


Behind the Fence

by HappyGetLucky



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anal Sex, And YOU Get a Happy Ending, Blowjobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of Grass, M/M, Matchmaker Jenna and Debby, Multi, POLY!FIC, Polyamory, TOPFL February Challenge, Tyler Is A Jerk, Vaginal Sex, YOU Get a Happy Ending, YOU'RE ALL GETTING HAPPY ENDINGS!, cum as lube, grass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyGetLucky/pseuds/HappyGetLucky
Summary: Tyler wants to bang his neighbor, but he wants to hit him too.Or the one where Tyler is married to Jenna and Josh is married to Debby but they're in love. Also, everyone is obsessed with their lawns.





	Behind the Fence

Tyler wants to bang his neighbor, but he wants to hit him, too.

He floats in that lazy spot between sleep and wakefulness, soaking in the aftermath of a good dream that he can’t quite remember. Jenna was there—Jenna is _here_ , a gentle warmth in the bed beside him. He cracks his eyes open and there is just enough glow from the gaps between the curtains to set the room on fire. Jenna’s hair is a blonde flood on the pillow next to him, her bare legs shockingly tan against the white coverlet. Her eyelashes are dark against her cheeks, but he can imagine the crisp halo of her eyes underneath, the dark corona that encircles her iris. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Sometimes he wakes up next to her and thinks he might still be dreaming.

The curve of her neck, the hollow in her shoulders, the arch of her cupid’s bow: he wants to kiss her. That thought stirs some reminder of his dream, something to do with wet tongues and the sensual drag of fingertips; the half-memory makes him hard. Tyler reaches out to comb her hair off of her neck, to trace the shell of her ear with one calloused thumb—

—and the noise begins: the raucous sound of a lawnmower starting.

Tyler throws the covers off and rolls out of bed. “God _damn_ it,” he says.

Jenna jerks awake, bleary blue eyes squinting up at him as he tugs last night’s jeans out of the hamper and onto his legs, underwear be fucked. “What is it?” she asks, startled breathless.

“Dun,” Tyler mutters. “That motherfucker is mowing his lawn.”

“No- _o_ ,” Jenna moans. “Please no—please come back to bed. I’m serious.”

“I will,” he says, buttoning his jeans. “Right after I mow mine. Go back to sleep, okay?”

“Tyler.” Jenna sits up and the sheet drifts away from herself. She’s naked: tanned skin, soft breasts, nipples the same pink of her lips. Her hair is a golden rat’s nest that Tyler wants to spend the day combing through until she’s relaxed and drunk off of the feeling. “Will you please come back to bed and forget the lawnmower?”

He throws an arm over his eyes even though he has turned away, groping blindly for the doorknob. “Sex is not a weapon. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

“Just—try not to make out with him! Or hit him!” calls Jenna. Tyler replies, but it is lost as he bounds down the stairs. In the distance, the front door slams shuts and then the house is swathed in silence. Outside is the calling of birds—a testament to how unjustly early in the morning it is—and the rhythmic whirring of the lawnmower in the distance. When she reaches out, Tyler’s side of the bed is still warm.

_Debby, r u up? Ty just left. He heard j start the mower._

_I’m up. You no what that means. angry sweaty almost-sex. want 2 watch?_

_B over in 10._

 

#

Tyler stands, barefoot, on the front porch. The concrete is shaded by the awning and still cool, so he curls his toes to keep them warm. The air is crisp but warming, heavy with the scent of dew and freshly cut grass. He takes deep breaths, fills every space of his lungs with it. It isn’t a wholly pleasant smell, but it doesn’t have to be for him to love it. It reminds him of days with lemonade in the backyard of the house he grew up in. It reminds him of the gazebo in his backyard, the way Jenna looks naked against the white-washed wood. It reminds him of college, those cold long days where the only sight outside of his window was the dreary city with it’s stinking iron, not a blade of grass for miles and miles.

Behind his sunglasses, he stares across the street and sips from his sweating Redbull. Josh Dun. He’s the owner of the two-story ranch style house directly south of Tyler’s. His hair is a shock of bubblegum pink (a middle finger to upper middle class suburbia, hopefully); his ears are gauged. Brown, generic eyes are set in a thin faced with a big nose.

Tyler is shamefully attracted to him. The sun is starting its ascent over the street and it makes Josh’s pale skin glow. He’s seen Josh mow shirtless three hundred times or more, but it’s like one of those fucking Picasso paintings: he likes it more the longer he looks. Josh’s right arm is tattooed from shoulder to wrist, and Tyler’s eyes eat up the new colors.

He hooks a thumb into his pocket and watches Josh mow. In fifteen minutes or so, he’ll probably be sweaty. Nice. In his gut is an old familiar ember of guilt—guilt for lusting after someone other than Jenna, guilt for lusting after a man—but Tyler kind of likes it. It burns, at least.

Tyler catches Josh’s eye. He jerks an earbud out of his ear, letting it dangle, probably blaring out some indie alternative band. The cord disappears into the pocket of his shorts which are too loose to withstand the heft of Josh’s phone, dragging down to reveal an obscene amount of hipbone. Jesus. What the fuck does Josh do all day to develop and maintain a body like that? Subconsciously, Tyler’s hand drifts to his stomach, soft, mostly-flat, mostly-unimpressive. Jenna likes it, at least.

Josh calls out, “Hey, Tyler!”

Tyler plasters on an exaggerated smile and holds out his Redbull in cheers. Josh beams, toothy and bright. Either he’s unfazed by Tyler’s obvious sarcasm or he genuinely doesn’t get it. Fucking incredible. Part of him really believes that Josh is just that nice—he gets that Tyler is dicking him around, he gets that Tyler has nothing but acidity (also, admittedly, a hard-on) for him, but it doesn’t bother him. Maybe he likes Tyler anyway. The thought makes Tyler feel like shit.

Cupping a hand around his mouth, Tyler shouts: “Getting a head start on the competition this year?”

Every year their town has a series of fundraisers to raise money for local youth groups. Most of the categories aren’t worth the breath it’d take to list them. Only one is worth any effort: the Best Kept Lawn contest. The chairpersons on the board go around collecting entry fees, and while the majority of it goes towards softball for the kiddies in town or painting over the graffiti at the park, a thousand dollars of it goes towards the winner. Personally, Tyler thinks it’s bullshit—just another way for the old crotchety assholes who run the city to make sure that it looks Well Kept, that it fits in with the narrow suburban stereotype of green grass and begonias.

It’s bullshit. But Tyler wins every damn year. And every year, Josh Dun smiles like the sun’s caught behind his teeth when they committee shows up to present Tyler with the check. Josh crosses the street to shake Tyler’s hand firmly and say something blandly meaningful like, _You earned it, man._

Josh laughs. He kills his push mower and leans against the handlebar. “You know it. I’m taking the title from you this year!”

“You can fucking try!” Tyler says back, phony smile firmly in place.

The door behind him opens and Jenna comes out. She’s wearing a crop top and leggings, hair mostly-brushed and thrown back into a ponytail. Seeing her now makes him think of the way he left her upstairs: naked, warm. In some ways, his verbal foreplay with Josh is just as thrilling, just as arousing.

“Hey Josh!” she calls, waving. Tyler loves her smiles, feels the glow of it even when it’s aimed at someone else. Jenna is warmth, and she shares it with everyone. Not for the first time, he thinks that Jenna and Josh would be good together—their names even fucking sound nice, _J_ enna and _J_ osh. The thought threatens to send him brooding. Jenna presses her lips just under his ear, resting a hand on Tyler’s soft stomach. When she whispers, goosebumps bloom on his arms. “Are you hard right now?”

Tyler snorts, takes a long drink of his Redbull. He’s not that hard. Like, barely. “Where are you off to? I thought you were going to wait in bed for me.”

She makes a face to show exactly what she thinks of that, and it’s not much. “I’m meeting Debby. We’re going to do sun salutations and keep an eye on you two to make sure no punches get thrown. Be nice to him, okay? He’s such a nice guy.”

“No promises,” says Tyler.

The kiss he gives Jenna could make a lesser person combust. He can feel Josh watching from across the street, the silence of the lawnmower louder than the blades. The idea shouldn’t make him feel so hot, like he’s standing in the Midwestern sun instead of the cool shade. When they part, they are both a little winded, and not for the first time, he can see it in her eyes: she knows what he’s doing, she knows that he’s putting on a show for Josh, she knows that there’s truth in all her teasing about his crush on their neighbor. He looks for some sign that this makes her angry or makes her sad, but she just smiles.

He watches her go.

Across the street, Josh is watching her come.

Tyler pads barefoot across the cool, damp grass. It’s tall enough to creep up the legs of his pants and tickle his ankle bones. He presses the automatic garage door opener that he’s clipped to the pocket of his jeans and inhales. Second only to the smell of grass is the smell of a garage: gasoline, dust. The tarp over the lawnmower comes off in a ragged whispers of canvas: Husqvarna. Zero-turn radius. Forty-eight inches.

He begins the summerly maintenance: putting in new spark plugs, new oil, new gasoline. He dusts off the undercarriage and checks the sharpness of the blades. It’s a familiar routine. Metal under his fingertips, the scent of last summer’s grass in his nose. Prepping the mower requires just enough mental effort to keep him from thinking about anything else, which is always fine by him.

There’s little about Tyler that most would consider masculine: he doesn’t have a masculine job, isn’t built like Josh Six-Pack Dun, doesn’t care for sporting events or alcohol. This, though—this is considered manly, and so Tyler wields it like a weapon against the other men in town, the ones who think he’s a sissy, the ones who wonder how he ended up with a woman so feminine, so perfect as Jenna. Behind his back, they question his manhood, but to his face they talk seed mixes, the perfect ratio of tall fescue and perennial ryegrass, landscaping.

And every fucking year, they hand him the Best Kept Lawn prize, their old wrinkled faces sour. This year, he fancies using some of the prize money to buy a strap-on for Jenna just so she can pound his ass and they can really give it to those old bastards—

“I guess great minds think alike.”

The buzz from his Redbull has set his reflexes on fire, so much that Tyler nearly throws the wrench he’s holding halfway across the room. His heart picks up the beat to double-time, and maybe it’s from nearly being startled to fucking death or maybe it’s from Josh who stands centered in the gaping mouth of the open garage door. He’s wearing swim trunks, not shorts—Tyler can tell up close from the sheen of the fabric. The sides of his shoes are stained green from walking on the wet, freshly cut grass. And yes, he’s sweating. This close Tyler can see a smattering of freckles across his face, darkened from the sun.

He’s so attractive that it’s almost painful—and not just from all the blood rushing to his dick. He wants to fuck Josh. He wants to be Josh. He wants to know Josh.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” Tyler barks.

Josh smiles banally. “Sorry. I see that you’re getting ready to mow, too.”

Tyler scoffs. He can feel bitter words in the back of his throat like the bite of stomach acid. He wants to be soft with Josh, to be kind. But whenever his mouth opens, nothing nice ever seems to come out. “Not for hours. The grass is still wet. Anyone with a sliver of knowledge about lawns knows not to mow first thing in the morning. The wet grass will clog the undercarriage.”

Josh rubs his knuckles against his chin, rasping along stubble. “Interesting. If that happened to me—theoretically. Say I couldn’t get my mower started…if I’ve left it in the middle of my lawn…how would I go about fixing that problem? Theoretically.”

Tyler casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

#

Josh’s mower is a Honda 3-in-1. 21 inches. He’s destroyed it.

“What do you suggest?” Josh asks.

“Go down to the market. Buy some flowers. Put this piece of shit in a grave, and never visit it.”

Josh nods, rubs his chin again. “You might be right. I loaned it to my brother last summer and when I got it back it was—changed. Like when men come back from war. You know?”

“Not at all,” says Tyler, soaking up this new information about Josh (he has a _brother_!) like a sponge. Is this crush so disgustingly desperate that any little thing about his neighbor feels like a revelation, feels like something he wants to know more about, wants to turn over and over in his brain at night when he can’t fall asleep? He’s starving for Josh. Even the scraps of him. “And honestly, I think that’s a pretty shitty comparison. Don’t shit on our vets like that.”

Josh blinks. “You’re so right. I didn’t even think of it that way. Man, that’s shallow of me. Thanks Tyler.” He claps Tyler on the back, palm lingering on the bare skin of his shoulder because yeah, _that’s_ not an interaction that Tyler is going to analyze and replay in his mind thirty times before the hour is out, and why are Josh’s hands so _soft_? “You make me a better person.”

“Glad to be of service,” says Tyler. “Look I’ve got stuff to do. Important stuff. Away from you. So—”

“Oh, yeah,” Josh rushes to say. “Sorry for interrupting you. Thanks for your input, I really appreciate it. I guess you’ve got the competition in the bag this year. My lawn will probably look like grasslands by the time I can budget for a new mower.”

This time, Tyler claps Josh on the shoulder. It’s the first time he’s ever touched Josh, and it couldn’t be more platonic—honestly, it’s a little violent, even though the force of his clasp doesn’t even make Josh flinch, the guy is so sturdily built—but Josh’s skin is like hot velvet, and he’s firm in the same way as Jenna, pale where she is tan, and the hollow of his collarbones would be a perfect place for Tyler to notch his thumb, to send home his tongue. “Don’t worry,” he says, staring at that collarbone. “You didn’t have a chance anyway.”

Josh laughs, maybe a little sadly. “You’re probably right.”

Tyler turns away before he can do something stupid. He crosses the lawn, grass clippings sticking to his bare feet. He’s halfway across the blacktop of the street when he does something _very_ stupid. Glancing over his shoulder shows Josh’s morose figure, one hand tangled hopelessly in his pink hair. His feet stop before his brain gives them permission. “Dun!” he shouts. “You can borrow my mower. Once a week. Sundays. Ten to noon, only if it’s sunny. Got it?”

And maybe sometimes it’s worth doing something stupid if it will make someone so happy. Josh’s smile is slow and encompassing. He holds up a thumb like some kind of fucking hipster. “Sounds awesome.”

“Awesome,” Tyler mutters.

#

_Josh told me that ty offered to let us use his mower_

_Is this the equivalent of gf’s borrowing each other’s clothes_

_Def a step in the right direction. Btw bring my crop top back tmrw. I’ll make mimosas_

_K :)_

#

One Wednesday, they have the Duns over for dinner. Jenna’s been spending most weekend mornings with Debby across the street and insists that it’s time they return the favor by inviting them into their home. She’s shown a definite increase in flexibility since undergoing Debby’s yoga tutelage, so Tyler supposes that he _does_ owe their neighbors some thanks.

But hiding his hard-on under the table all night won’t make for a pleasant attitude, and he hopes his wife knows it.

“Jenna!” Tyler bellows, adding the shredded Napa cabbage to the skillet on the stove already simmering with scallions and minced garlic. “Jenna! Where’s the cyanide? Josh’s dish needs a little _something_!”

“Sounds delicious,” says Josh.

“Jesus,” Tyler yelps, flinging cabbage on the floor. One hand clutches his racing heart—be _still_ , Josh looks so fucking good dressed in cargo shorts and a wife-beater, pink hair combed down flat over his forehead. His arm of tattoos glints in the warm kitchen lights. Behind him is Debby, who Tyler is pretty sure is wearing his wife’s crop top. “Do you always just—walk right in to people’s houses?”

“I told them to come in when they arrived,” Jenna says, sliding open the glass patio doors. She’s wearing a strapless dress and dainty, feminine sandals. With the glow of the sun going down in the backyard, she’s lit up like a fucking angel. “We’re eating in the backyard tonight. I hope you guys don’t mind. Does anyone want drinks?”

Josh and Debby both accept. The girls disappear down into the basement to pick a bottle of wine from their selection. Without asking, Josh takes a seat at the kitchen island to watch Tyler cook. His gaze on the back of Tyler’s neck feels as hot as the shimmering burn from the stove, and it’s a goddamn miracle that Tyler doesn’t cut off a finger or get third-degree burns from the simmering oil.

“Smells great,” Josh says.

“Thanks,” Tyler mutters. Desperate to get away from Josh’s eyes for a moment, he makes an excuse to disappear to the basement under the guise of helping Jenna pick a wine. He pauses at the top of the stairs when he hears voices.

“—sorry. I know this might be hard to believe,” says Jenna. “But Tyler is never usually like this. Josh is literally, like, the sweetest guy. I don’t understand why Ty treats him this way—”

Tyler jerks away from the door to the stairs. He knows better than to listen in to Jenna’s private conversations—and it serves him right to hear something that he doesn’t want to hear. Unable to face Josh in the kitchen and unable to face Jenna and Debby in the basement, Tyler lingers in the hallway between, guilt like a hot, heavy stone in his stomach. He feels embarrassed. He feels sick. Normal people don’t act this way.

Josh appears in the doorway and sees Tyler standing, brooding, in the hall. “Hey—are you okay?”

“Yes,” snaps Tyler.

“Alright. Well, I think you’re burning your pad thai.”

#

It isn’t burned, just a little smoky. They sit out on the patio furniture, lit up by the glow of citronella candles. The heat is just tolerable, but the cool glasses of wine help. Tyler drinks water, ice cubes tinkling in his glass, wiping the icy condensation on Jenna’s warm thigh just to see her jump and scowl at him. When he isn’t looking at Jenna, his eyes are glued to Josh, absorbing a million little things about him before he leaves, because Tyler doesn’t know the next chance he’ll have like this.

“This is incredible,” say Josh about the yard. “Your privacy fence is so high, I’ve never even caught a glimpse of this oasis you have back here.”

“Thank you,” Tyler says, biting back any sarcastic reply. He clenches his hand into a fist with the effort. What is it about Josh that makes him so easy to be mean to? Is it his naturally kind personality, the way Tyler’s barbs just seem to diffuse off of him like water off of a duck? “It’s my Secret Garden, I guess.”

“Tyler built me the gazebo as a wedding anniversary gift,” Jenna says. Her chair is close enough to his that they bump elbows. She crosses her legs and Tyler lets his hand rest just above her knee—God, she’s shaved and moisturized. His thumb drift down until she catches it and pins it to her thigh to stop its descent. She’s trying not to smile. “It’s reclaimed wood.”

“A handyman _and_ environmentally conscientious,” says Debby. She has rings on nearly every finger, tapping them against her wine glass. “I’ve got to get a closer look at that gazebo. Do you mind, Jenna?”

“Of course not.”

They wander across the yard together, and Tyler watches them go, Jenna’s short dress swirling around her thighs. Debby reaches out and takes her hand, and they link fingers. His eyebrows raise.

“Your wife is affectionate,” Tyler mutters.

“She likes Jenna,” says Josh.

“I can see that.”

“Don’t worry. She likes you too.”

Tyler stares. Josh is still nursing the same glass of wine Tyler poured him at the beginning of the night. There’s something about his tone that is strange, setting off little bells in the back of Tyler’s brain, the same sort of bells that go off when he knows he is missing the punchline to a valuable joke. “I’m glad,” is all he says.

“If I had a place like this,” says Josh, gesturing to the backyard. “I’d never leave it.”

“Sometimes, I don’t want to,” Tyler admits.

The privacy fence is taller than Josh, taller than Tyler. Along the side of the house and around the gazebo are the flowers that Jenna planted when they first moved in: echinacea, hydrangea, black eyed susan. He remembers those days fondly when she would come inside smelling of sweat and dirt, freckles darker than ever, wearing her oversized sunhats.

“Can I ask you something?” Josh asks.

“Can’t we just sit here in silence?”

Josh laughs and Tyler is glad his guard his up, glad that he’d avoided having a glass of wine. He’s already been on the verge of half-hard all night (something about the heat of the night, the warmth of the good company, the way Josh always takes a sip of wine when he catches Tyler looking at him and the way that Tyler still can’t stop taking those glances—why won’t that fucker look away? Doesn’t he have any shame?)—what was he thinking about again? Something about him trying to ignore the disturbing lust he has for Josh. Remembering his efforts to ignore it is surprisingly counterproductive. He shifts and looks towards the gazebo where Jenna and Debby are seated on the bench, sides pressed against each other, whispering together.

“Alright. Question. Go,” Tyler concedes.

“Why all this effort on your lawn? On your landscape?”

“Pride?” Tyler says, because it’s easy. “Because I love it? I don’t love a lot of things.”

“I can tell, honestly,” says Josh. “No offense but—you kind of come off as a hard guy to please.”

“It just takes the right person—right _thing_ , I mean—I’m—look. I like grass.”

Josh laughs again. He’s so easy with his smiles, so generous even when Tyler doesn’t deserve them. He nods. “Okay.”

“Look, quit it. Quit fucking flustering me.” It’s the wrong word. It’s the right word, but he just wishes that he hadn’t said it.

“I’m flustering you?” Josh asks. They’re on opposite sides of the table but it’s still too close. Tyler imagines that he can smell Josh. Sweat, cologne, the wine on his breath. There’s so much eye contact. Jesus, this must eye contact can’t be healthy. He can’t remember the last time he’s had so much prolonged eye contact with someone he wasn’t fucking or planning to fuck.

“You know what you’re doing,” Tyler says lowly.

“Everything okay?” Jenna puts her hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his tight trapeziuses. He cranes his head to look at her and sees the worry on her face, the tightness in her lips.

So he smiles. “Everything’s fine.”

#

That night, Tyler takes her outside to the backyard and they fuck in the grass. Her skin looks pale against the dark lawn, hair like spun gold. Sometimes she laughs because the grass tickles her; sometimes he laughs just because he’s happy. Jenna gets impatient and rolls them over, throwing a slim leg across Tyler’s hips, and sinking down on his dick. She plants a hand by Tyler’s head, one braced against his bare chest. He knows to keep still, to let her use him and take what she needs. Behind her are the stars, a cloudless Midwestern summer night, but he’d rather watch her: her eyes closed as she concentrates on what she feels, her mouth parted, the glinting hint of her teeth.

Tyler reaches up to palm at one of her breasts, dragging his thumb across her nipple. She exhales and nods, so he does it again and again, clutching a fistful of grass with his free hand. He could stare at her naked body all day, but nothing gets him off like knowing she’s enjoying herself. Nothing.

When she’s ready, she moves his hand off of her breast and down to where they’re joined. He rubs the flat of the back of his fingers against her clit and the noise she makes is feral.

“Go ahead,” says Tyler. “You know I like hearing you. You’re so fucking—Jesus, you’re incredible. Are you going to wake the neighbors for me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she says, breathy. “You’d like me to wake Josh, wouldn’t you?”

Tyler exhales shakily, rolls his eyes. “ _Fuck_ Josh—”

“Do you think he could hear us, if he was outside right now?” Jenna asks. The hand on his chest moves up to clench the curve of his shoulder, nails digging into the skin as she gets better leverage, legs shaking.

“No,” Tyler says through his teeth.

“Would you like that? Would you like him to hear us fucking?”

He doesn’t answer, letting go of the grass and clutching at her hip. He keeps his right hand steady where she needs it most, slick pressure just below her pubic bone. She grinds against it firmly and laughs at him.

“Are you about to come right now? You had better not. You had better hold off for me.” Why does that make him want to come so much more?? He focuses on smoothing his thumb against the well of her hipbone. “Do you think they do this too, fuck out in their yard? When Josh comes, do you think he’s hoping to wake you up?”

It’s the tipping point for him, and she knows it. She takes his hand away from her clit and pins his wrist to the grass; her other hand tangles fingers with his, squeezing, loving him, forgiving him. His climax steals the breath from his lungs and above him, Jenna laughs, tipping her head back towards the stars, laughing and laughing. They kiss, but it’s awkward because they’re both smiling.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll eat you out.”

“I know,” she says, tenderly.

So he does, twice.

#

_Did u get it good, tonight?_

_So good. Out in the yard good._

_Better than usual?_

_Oh ya. He came v quick. I MIGHT have mentioned j’s name ;)_

_Josh SAID ty’s name. <.< I think we r making progress_

_Tyler will b a harder nut 2 crack._

_TALK TO HIM!!_

#

“You know that I love you,” she whispers to the back of his neck. She’s the big spoon tonight, because she asked to be and because Tyler needed her to be. His work isn’t going well—he’s been spending more and more time listening to the same tracks without doing anything. Some days, he avoids going down into the basement altogether. Jenna has noticed, because she knows him and because she always notices. So tonight, she holds him tight enough to hold all his bones together and to keep all of his doubts away.

“I love you too,” he mumbles back, on the verge of sleep.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” she asks.

“Not until I met you,” he says.

She snorts, the exhalation brushing his shoulder. “Don’t be cheesy.”

“You make me cheesy.”

“Okay, so you believe in soulmates. Do you believe everyone has—one soulmate?”

“Sure,” he says. He rolls over to face her, shifting down to press his forehead against her sternum. She tangles her fingers in his hair until he hums and kisses the soft skin between her breasts. “Everyone’s got one.”

“Only one, I mean.”

“I don’t know. What about all those little old ladies who find love after their husbands die? One soulmate wouldn’t be very fair to them.”

“What about—” whatever she is going to say, it teeters in her mouth. Tyler can feel that her breath has halted, like she’s holding it, like she’s afraid. He presses another confused kiss, aiming for her heart. “What about more than one soulmate. At once.”

Tyler frowns. “I don’t know, Jen. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she soothes, stroking her thumb against his ear. “Nothing, I promise. I just, I want you to know that I think it’s possible to love two people at once, and that doesn’t mean you love either of them less than the other. You know?”

He sits back. Her hand falls away from his face. “Is this about Debby?”

“ _What? Debby?_ No! This is about you and Josh—”

“Me and _Josh_? I am not in love with Josh.”

“You’re attracted to him.”

“Maybe.”

“He’s attractive!”

“I _know_!” And even though he isn’t in love with Josh, he still feels guilty. Because maybe he doesn’t love him now, but he thinks that he could love him. And that’s messed up. He married Jenna, Jenna saved his life, helped him to build a life that he could enjoy and that he could find meaningful. How could he love anyone else? How could he let himself love anyone else? There should be no room in his heart for anyone else. Then why is there? “I’m not in love with him.”

“Is this because of your family? You said they were so strict, so Christian—”

“Don’t bring up my family.”

“—you never want them to visit—”

“ _Don’t_ bring up my family. Jenna. _Please_. Stop.”

She stops. He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, palming at his eyes. They’re burning.

“Tyler, listen to me okay. No, don’t look at me, just…listen. Debby told me that her and Josh live a different kind of lifestyle than you and I are used to. Before they moved here, they had some other people in their lives. Sometimes boyfriends, sometimes girlfriends. But that doesn’t mean that they love each other any less than how much we love each other. It’s so, so obvious how Josh feels about you, and maybe you don’t know this, but it’s pretty obvious how you feel about Josh too. Sometimes, at night, you say his name in your sleep. Tonight when they came over, you wore your Date shirt. Don’t even pretend like that’s not what it is, Ty, you’ve worn that same shirt for our last four anniversaries.

“I don’t know if these feelings you have for Josh are something that you want to pursue. You’re making it—well—pretty clear that they’re not. But I want you to know that whatever is holding you back? It isn’t me. I love you, and I know how much you love me. Nothing could change that in my eyes. I want you to be happy. Whatever that means. Okay?”

Tyler fumes. Angry. Touched. Confused. Afraid. He nods. “I want that for you too. I’m happy with _you_ ,” he says.

“I didn’t say that you weren’t,” she says, gently. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” _Maybe_.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

“Fuck no. Come here.”

There is no little spoon or big spoon. They wrap their arms around each other, forehead to forehead, breathing in each other’s air. Even when it gets uncomfortable, they don’t let go, holding on tight for dear life.

#

_I talked to Ty last night. I think we need to back off for a while._

_Wat? Why? We were just getting thru to them_

_It’s on them now. Whatever choice they make._

_*sigh* alright. I’ll trust ur judgement. Come over? I miss u_

_In 10. :)_

#

Friday night finds Tyler on his knees in the front yard, pulling up weeds. He uses seed mixes that are weed-resistant (and Jenna keeps the flowerbeds immaculate), but some still crop up: dandelions with their rubbery stems and crabgrass with their creeping roots. There’s chemical weed killer in his garage but it’s too powerful and at risk of browning the grass. This needs a careful, personal touch. Tyler doesn’t mind, sweat dripping down his forehead. Labor stills his thoughts, helps him avoid remembering his conversation with Jenna two nights before.

Across the street, Josh comes out of his house. He’s wearing nothing but flannel pajama pants, trudging barefoot across his lawn, trampling grass in the shape of his footprints. He wants to win Best Kept Lawn but doesn’t even walk on his fucking sidewalk. Amateur. It’s dark enough out that, in the shadows the way he is, Tyler is mostly invisible. He keeps still, turns into some sort of angry, confused lawn statue. Watches Josh come down to the mailbox at the end of his driveway. He takes the mail out and starts to card through it using the light from the streetlamp.

Possessed, Tyler stands up. His fists clench at his sides, smeared in dirt. He matches his footsteps to his furious heartbeat, coming down the cement driveway like an emotional typhoon. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, doesn’t know what he’s going to say even when he’s staring at the back of Josh’s neck, even when he’s close enough to see that the curls are damp from a shower.

Tyler might hit him.

Tyler might kiss him.

Tyler doesn’t know which of those he would regret more.

“Jenna told me,” he says.

Josh turns. The mail slips out from his hands: bills, a birthday card, and even in his fury Tyler stops to wonder, disgustingly desperately eager _When is Josh’s birthday? Soon?_ Josh flinches under Tyler’s gaze even though he is a much larger man and obviously stronger. Carefully, he bends down and scoops up the mail. “Told you?” He repeats.

“Yeah. About you—the little crush you have on me. About the sick things you and your wife get up to. I want you to leave me and Jenna al _one_.”

Josh has on an expression that Tyler has never seen him wear before. The polite, optimistic veneer has faded, swept away under Tyler’s assault. Josh stares at him blankly, without a smile, no lines of laughter creeping from the edges of his eyes or the side of his mouth. “That’s a nasty thing to say,” Josh says, barely audible over the hiss of cicadas and the chirping of crickets. “Cold, even for you.”

“Cold _is_ me,” Tyler snaps. “You can fuck off. The both of you.”

“Your opinion about us means nothing,” Josh says. He closes his mailbox and does up the latch, but his hands are shaking. “It means _less_ than nothing. We aren’t sick people. We’re loving people. We’re _normal_ people. We smile at our neighbors, and we say good morning when we pass them on the street, and we don’t do— _anything_ that you do. My _crush_ on you? I’ll get over it. I’ll be fine. I’ve got Debby, and maybe I’ll meet someone else someday or maybe I won’t. But whatever is wrong with you? I don’t know, man. I think you’re going to have it forever.

“But between you and me?” Josh steps closer, invading Tyler’s personal space. Tyler doesn’t step away. Moving isn’t an option. Not when he can barely even blink, barely breathe, feeling like his guts are slipping out of him, like his lungs are crushed to dust. “I know. About _your_ crush. On _me_. And whatever dark thing that happened in your past—whatever terrible bullshit that lives inside of you that makes you think it’s okay for you to take out your confused, homophobic feelings on innocent? I hope that it dies. For your sake. I really do.”

Tyler grabs Josh by the shoulders, digging his thumbs into the wells of space above his collarbones. There is barely any space between them, and Tyler destroys what’s left, pulling Josh to him and kissing him. Josh drops the mail again. They’re nearly the same height, no awkward slouching or craning necessary. Their mouths collide, half-open, and Tyler has thought about this so many times, day dreamt and night dreamt about this so many times, but it’s better than his dreams. It’s real. Their teeth clack together, tongues touching. It’s lewd, angry, so sad and bitter. Josh kisses him back fiercely, like he’s trying to find that dark thing that lives inside of Tyler and force it out, some sort of passionate exorcism.

Tyler can barely breathe when Josh pulls away, putting a hand flat against Tyler’s chest to push him back. They stare at each other, lips dark and wet in the dim light of the streetlamp. Josh has dirty handprints on his collarbones, and the sight of them hurts. It just hurts.

“Don’t ever do that again,” says Josh. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say terrible things to me and kiss me like that.”

Tyler’s mouth opens, still tasting like Josh _. I’m sorry_ , he wants to say. But he doesn’t know what for. Better yet, he doesn’t know where to start.

Josh bends down to pick up the mail. Without another word, he turns and trudges across the grass. He closes the front door behind him with barely a click.

#

_Wat happened? Josh is pissed_

_I don’t know. Tyler won’t talk to me. He’s so upset._

_Maybe this was a mistake._

_How do we undo something that wasn’t even done_

#

Tyler spends Sunday with the garage door open. Ten o’clock passes. Then eleven. Then noon. There is not a cloud in the sky, but still Josh doesn’t come to borrow the Husqvarna. Closing the garage door to go inside the house is painful, embarrassing. He guesses that he probably deserves it.

#

There are no windows in the Master bath. Tyler fills the tub with steaming water and shuts off the lights, stripping naked and feeling his way to the tub across the steamy tiles. It is absolutely dark, and even after several minutes pass, his eyes don’t adjust. He grabs the first bottle he can find on the rack attached to the shower wall and squirts a generous amount of Whatever into his hand (Jenna’s body wash by the smell of it). He scrubs it through his hair. Soap gets in his eyes and burns, but he doesn’t care.

Jenna finds him there an hour later. The water is tepid, his body shriveled and shivering, strawberry body wash congealing in his hair. The light from the open door hurts, makes him squint. She takes one long look at him before stepping in and closing the door behind her. Tyler listens to the quiet sound of her undressing. She crawls into the tub. Their legs meet, gangly, in the middle. Water sloshes over the porcelain edges onto the tiles.

“Tell me,” she says.

So he tells her: the terrible things he said to Josh yesterday. His terrible feelings for Josh. How afraid it makes him, and how ashamed he feels. About his parents, about his old friends, about the people in town who he knows talk about him behind his back. It shouldn’t bother him, but god it bothers him. He knows it’s not wrong, but feels like it _should_ feel wrong. He tells her about their kiss, his infidelity to her. By the end of it, his face is damp with tears, teeth chattering with cold and sorrow and regret.

“Tyler,” she says tenderly. “Come here.”

He does, shifting in the bath so that they can press against each other. He doesn’t deserve it, but he does.

“You poor thing.”

“Don’t,” he groans.

“Listen to me.” She grabs his shoulders, pulls him away even though it is too dark for them to look at each other. He can feel the burn of her eyes anyway, the bite of her nails on his shoulders, the strength in her hands. “I’m going to love you, Tyler. People are going to love you. Whether you think you deserve it or not. Whether you fight us or not. We’re going to love you, baby.”

He barely knows what that means, but it makes his heart unclench. He buries his face in her damp neck. His breaths begin to slow, tears stopping. She strokes at his hair, tangles her fingers in it. “You’re not off the hook,” she says. “You need to apologize to Josh. And to Debby. I really like them, Ty. I know that you do too.”

“I don’t know how to say sorry,” he says. The idea makes him feel sick. “There’s no way that’s big enough.”

“That’s your problem to solve. But we aren’t going to solve it in the tub, baby.”

#

_They kissed_

_WAT WHEN!! WOO!_

_:(_

_No woo?_

_I think it’s over._

_That’d explain y J is so upset._

_I’m sorry debs._

_Me too jen. For them._

#

The idea comes to him at sunset when he’s standing in his driveway, sweeping up the pile of weeds he’d pulled last night into a neat pile to toss or burn. The sun glows orange, turning the sky as pink as Josh’s hair. Across the street, there is no sign of his neighbor, as badly as he wants him to appear.

He goes into the garage, leaving the weeds in a half-swept pile. In the corner are two bottles of weed killer: KILLS WEEDS IN 12 HOURS! 12 WEEK PROTECTION! it promises. He sends Jenna a text.

_Will be up late. Get some rest._

Tyler works into the night.

#

Jenna wakes him crawling back into bed. She spoons against him, kisses his naked shoulder, and laughs. “I can’t believe you,” she says, lips against his skin. She is smiling; he can tell.

He cracks open bleary, exhausted eyes at her. “Has he seen it?”

“Is he banging on our door, do you mean? No. But it’s early. I’m going to go meet up with Debby for yoga. I’ll be back home afterwards.”

Tyler snorts, burrows back into the covers. “There won’t be any fireworks. Trust me.”

Jenna crawls back out of bed. She’s dressed in her workout gear: leggings, a neon tank-top. Her hair is pulled back and she already has her eyeliner on for the day, a neat line of coal around her eyes. She’s not wearing a bra. He couldn’t name a single other person in the world who could look so enthusiastic—so eager to go and workout.

“Jen?” he says, closing his eyes. His heart feels like one big knot, so he imagines reaching inside of himself and loosening it gently, letting go of right and wrong. “That thing you said, about wanting me to be happy, no matter what it takes? I want that for you too.”

#

It’s noon when the slow moving van of archaic assholes drifts down their street. He recognizes the van used by the city council for official business and knows the one driving. All the windows are rolled down, old wrinkled faces leaning out to squint and assess each lawn. This must be the highlight of their judgmental lives. They’re coming for Tyler’s—probably dreading Tyler’s, the even color, the thick seeding, the lack of weeds, the soft textures.

Instead, they find the letters burned in the grass with weed killer, ten feet tall, brown and dry words: I’M SORRY.

Tyler stands on his porch, Redbull in hand, sipping. He’s shirtless, exhausted from last night, fresh from a shower that may or may not have scrubbed off the chemical scent of the weed killer. He squints at his lawn. The letters are crooked. But the message is clear.

It’s clearer when he sees Josh’s face as the committee knocks on his door to give him the prize. It’s a pitiful little trophy made for $9.99 at a shop in town where you can also buy t-shirts with iron-on letters. More valuable is the check for one thousand dollars. Josh answers the door in his pajamas. He holds the trophy in one hand, staring at it like it’s something that he’s dug free from a meteor, it’s so strange to him. Josh nearly pushes one man over to see past, to look towards Tyler’s house, his lawn, Tyler standing on the porch.

Josh stares at the letters, and Tyler can see the smile bloom on his face from across the street. But he knows it’s not enough.

Tyler crosses the street. The asphalt burns his bare feet. He makes sure not to trample Josh’s lawn, going up the driveway. The committee avoids looking at him, scrambling to get into their van and disappear from this corner of the neighborhood with the sissy musician and the pink-haired punk. Josh turns the check around so that Tyler can see it. Tyler smiles, holds out his hand. Josh takes it, and they shake firmly.

“You earned it, man,” says Tyler, only a little mocking.

Josh grins, pulls Tyler in for a hug.

“I’m so sorry for the things I said,” Tyler mutters against his skin, dragging his lips against Josh’s bare shoulder, the skin burning and so soft. “About you, and about Debby. You’re good people. Great people. I’m sorry about everything. I didn’t know—how to deal with this. With how I feel.”

“You know now?” Josh asks. “How to deal with it, I mean.”

Tyler pulls away, but they don’t go far, nearly nose to nose with each other. “I know I’ll have help.”

“Kiss him,” Debby shrieks.

They both jerk, startled. A curtain rustles from the window by the front door. Tyler and Josh meet eyes.

“Your wife is a little creepy, though,” says Tyler. “Come with me.”

_JENNA CODE BLUE J AND T ARE GONNA BONE I THINK_

_What?? Where??_

_THEY ARE COMING TO YOU! I’M OMW_

_FUCK!!!!_

Hand in hand, they cross the street to Tyler’s house. He presses Josh against the inside of his front door and hugs him, burying his face in his neck. “I want to kiss you,” says Tyler. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Josh laughs.

They make their way through the house distractedly, getting sidetracked in their warm, sucking kisses, in the drag of Josh’s palm drifting up under Tyler’s t-shirt, in the jolt of pleasure when they flatten against each other, hard cocks rubbing together. Josh groans, curling his thumbs in the belt loops on Tyler’s jeans and dragging their hips together like they are magnets that can’t be pulled apart.

“Where are we going,” Josh asks.

“The yard,” says Tyler. “Gonna fuck you in the grass.”

“Of course,” Josh says. “You and your grass.”

He rips Tyler’s shirt over his head, traces the tattoos on his pecs, following the lines with his tongue and the tip of his nose. As soon as the patio door is open, the heat drifts in, stifling in a loving way. They barely make it off of the patio, collapsing into the soft grass. Josh’s chest is heaving with breaths, eyes half-lidded as Tyler hovers over him, curling his fingers under the waistband of his pajama pants.

“Is this what you’ve wanted?” Tyler asks, tugging down the pants. Josh isn’t wearing boxers, and there’s no happy trail, no pubic hair, like Josh has known how long Tyler’s been waiting to catch an eyeful of his dick and didn’t want anything to hinder him. “God. It’s what _I’ve_ wanted.

“I’m going to suck you off,” Tyler says. “But don’t look at me,” He grabs Josh’s chin firmly, turns his head towards the house. “I want you to look up there and wave at our wives, because I’ll bet that they’re up there watching us, and I think they’ve been waiting for this longer than we have.”

Josh makes a sound, a mix between a groan and a laugh. Tyler ducks down, grabs his neighbor by the hips and sucks on one pale hipbone. He drags his teeth across Josh’s abs, feeling them jump and tense under the pressure. He licks a stripe from his navel down, feels the rasp of stumble from a happy-trail that is just starting to grow back in. It hurts; it’s good.

When he feels a hand rest on the back of his head, he glances up to make sure that Josh is still staring out at the house. He is, smiling. Josh lifts a hand, waving to someone Tyler doesn’t bother turning his head to see—is it Debby? Is it Jenna? Why does that idea go straight to his cock, knowing that someone is up there, someone who cares for Josh watching _Tyler_ care for Josh?

It’s all the go-ahead that Tyler needs. Maybe there should be nerves—he’s never sucked a dick before, only watched increasing amounts of gay porn since Josh and Debby moved in across the street—but this is something that Tyler loves. Oral sex is something he loves to give. He also loves to give a performance, feels the burn of eyes on him. His mouth fills with spit at just the thought of it, the heft of Josh’s balls in his palm when he reaches up to cup them, the muted smell of Josh’s sweat and sex and whatever spicy body wash he uses.

Tyler takes his time with it: running his closed lips along the velvety skin of Josh’s shaft and then pressing open mouthed kisses, slicking it with his saliva.

“Dude, suck me off,” Josh laughs.

“Dude, don’t rush me or I’ll make you suffer. I’m trying to worship you.”

Josh shuts up, teeth clicking together. Tyler takes him into his mouth, one hand twisting gently around what he can’t reach. He’s unpracticed and can tell—shouldn’t he be able to swallow the guy whole, for fucks sake?—and maybe Josh can tell too, but the sighs he’s making and the way he strokes Tyler’s head makes him think that he doesn’t care. There’s already the bitter taste of pre-cum on his tongue, so Josh has to be getting off on this. He closes his eyes and gets lost in it, jaw aching, spit running down his chin.

He pulls away, jerking Josh off. “You can look at me, now,” he says. Mostly because he wants to look at Josh. Partly because he wants Josh to see him: lips red and wet, eyes wild, hair mussed, chin slick, fisting Josh’s cock. “Be honest. Do you think about me when you’re having sex with Debby?”

“Sometimes,” Josh whispers.

“Do you think about me when you’re beating off?”

“ _Some_ times.”

“Do you think about Jenna, too?”

Josh sucks in a breath. He can’t speak. He nods instead, eyes pressed tightly shut.

“You think about me and her together, when I’m fucking her? When she’s on top of me, riding my dick and palming her own tits? Or when she’s fucking me, three fingers in my ass? She loves to edge me but doesn’t have the patience to be edged. That night you and Debby came over for pad thai, I fucked her on the grass where you’re laying now, ate her out until she bit her knuckles raw—”

Josh comes, groaning lowly. His chest heaves, cock twitching in Tyler’s hand as he jerks him through his climax, cum splattering against Tyler’s chest, against Josh’s pelvis. “Jesus,” Josh gasps, running his fingers through Tyler’s hair while he catches his breath. Tyler shifts to collapse in the grass at his side, curling into him, resting his head on his neighbor’s heaving chest, listening to the frantic beating of his heart.

There is peace here, behind the fence, in Josh’s arms, Debby and Jenna upstairs. There’s no peace outside, no peace where the grass ends and the blacktop of the street begins, where there are eyes to judge them and the affection they all feel for each other. But here, there’s peace. For a moment in Tyler’s heart, there’s peace. It’s good enough.

“It’s not fucking,” says Josh, still breathing hard through his nose. He’s slick with sweat.

“What?” Tyler asks.

“It’s making love.”

Tyler grins, bites at Josh’s pec. “I know. It can be both, you know.”

“I want to hear you say it,” says Josh.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“ _I love you_.”

“Prove it.”

They kiss, long and slow. Tyler is hard, aching, like he’s liable to burst, but in some ways he’s disconnected from it. It’s secondary to how full his heart feels, how healing this is. Josh is a salve to wounds he doesn’t even know exist. It makes Tyler’s eyes burn with tears even as their kiss deepens, tongues moving together, hands in each other’s hair.

“Prove it,” Josh says into Tyler’s mouth. Tyler gets up on his knees to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down. He’s not as neat as Josh, thick curling pubic hair around the base of his cock. Josh’s eyes still burn, eating him up like he’s starving for him. He wipes his hand through the cooling cum on his pelvis and reaches for Tyler, slicking his shaft and gently thumbing that spot beneath the head that makes Tyler groan. “God, you’re gorgeous,” says Josh. “Tell me how often you beat off to me. Tell me that you don’t think about sitting over there in that gazebo you built for your wife watching how I would go down on her, about how she’d pull out clumps of grass in her fists trying to keep her cool.”

“You have no idea,” Tyler says lowly, touching Josh’s knees tenderly so that he bends them up, pressing a kiss tenderly to the inside of one. “I think I’ve beaten off more in the last three summers than I have in my entire life previously.”

Josh snorts, guiding Tyler’s hand down, cupping his balls and lifting them up to give Tyler room. He presses his thumb against Josh’s entrance, slipping in easily, feeling the muscles flutter around him as Josh gasps for breath, mouth open, eyes shut. “Debby and I used the strap-on last night,” Josh breaths. “I won’t need much prep.”

Tyler’s eyes roll back. “Jesus. We’ve got to get one of those for Jenna.”

Josh laughs through his gasping, and Tyler’s cheeks burn from smiling so much. Is sex supposed to be this funny? They share dopey, lazy smiles while Tyler fingers him gently, throbbing between his legs. Inside, Josh feels like hot silk, just the way the inside of his mouth feels when Tyler traces it with his tongue. He scissors his fingers, feeling the gentle give of Josh’s muscles and the flutters of anticipation as he fidgets. He drags the tips of his fingers over Josh’s prostate, groaning when he groans.

“Come on,” Josh says. “Prove it to me. Come on.”

Tyler nestles between Josh’s legs, both of their cocks hard and resting between them, smearing pre-cum on their stomachs. Josh has that same, easy smile that Tyler has become so used to seeing. Licking his palm, he tastes cum and sweat before slicking his shaft and inching forward, gently easing the head of his dick past the rim of Josh’s ass. It’s unbearably hot, the pressure so good it nearly hurts after being ignored for so long. The grass tickles his thighs, scrapes his knees and palms that he plants by Josh’s head, wanting to tangle in his pink hair.

“Now,” says Josh. “Prove it to me.”

“Yes,” says Tyler, pressing forward into that heat that’s so good it hurts. “Okay. Okay.”

“Faster. Are you this careful with Jenna?” Josh asks. “Or does she have to be this careful with you? Are you going to break?”

Tyler’s being goaded, he knows it, he loves it, he rises to it, thrusting forward until Josh’s cock nudges against his belly. His jaw aches from gritting his teeth together to hold himself back. It all seems like too much: Josh’s attention focused on him, one hand clutching Tyler’s thigh, the other bent at the elbow to gently wrap his fingers around Tyler’s wrist. The heat that beats down on them, bakes them alive, the heat they’re making with each other. The smell of sweat and dirt and grass and Josh’s cum smeared between them. It takes him no time at all to come, and Josh beams at him, tilting his pelvis up so Tyler can drive his cock home until he bursts, balls aching with relief.

They end up side by side in the grass, Tyler’s hand lazily jacking him off, kissing obscenely. When he comes, Josh spills into the grass between them.

“Prove it,” Josh says, even when they’re finished.

“I will,” Tyler promises. “I will.”

#

“They look so happy,” says Debby, pressing her palms against the window of the master bedroom. It overlooks the backyard, the dark roof of the gazebo burning hot in the sunlight, their husbands prostrate on the grass, naked, pale slashes against the green grass. “Look, Jen. Josh is waving. Wave to him!”

Jenna steps closer, glancing down. Josh _is_ waving. The size of his smile increases when he sees her there too. Tyler is crouched over him, mouth pressed against the tight expanse of skin below Josh’s belly button, the space where there should be a trail of fine dark hair but there isn’t. She knows how it feels to be under Tyler’s mouth, his intensely focused attention. Josh reaches down to tangle his fingers in Ty’s hair, his other hand tracing over the smooth expanse of his own chest and _Jesus_.

“I’m not going to make it,” Jenna mutters. “There’s no feasible way that I’m going to survive this.”

Debby laughs. “You’ll survive. You’re going to thrive, babe.”

She reaches out and takes Jenna’s hand. They stare at each other, smiling. Sunlight glints off of Debby’s rings when she lifts Jenna’s palm to press a kiss to her wrist. Her lipstick doesn’t even smudge.

“There was a girl in college,” Jenna says. “We were friends. I felt more—I thought she did too. But she didn’t. She was just, really nice. Admitting my feelings ruined the friendship on her end, and we drifted apart. I haven’t talked to her in…God, years. I felt doomed to fall _in_ love with everyone I just loved. Shouldn’t there be some sort of separation? Shouldn’t I have friends that I have drinks with and—and do yoga with, but that I don’t want to kiss or make love with?

“Tyler told me something this morning. He used the same words to me that I used when talking about Josh to him. That he just wanted me to be happy. I can’t believe that he knew before I knew. How I feel about you.”

“I’ve been giving off signals,” Debby says gently.

“I was just afraid—afraid that I was seeing things that weren’t there. In the way you treated me.”

Debby kisses her, and there’s no mistaking it. Her lips are soft and matte, plusher than Tyler’s. The rings on her fingers are warm when she cups her hand against Jenna’s cheek and tilts her head, opening their mouths more to each other, running her tongue against the seam of Jenna’s lips, and when they finally taste each other, it tastes like a variation of home.

“This changes everything, doesn’t it,” Jenna says.

Debby hugs her, warmly. “Yes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is just supposed to be a happy lil fic so take it with a grain of salt. 
> 
> Find me on Twitter @ Spooky_Sad
> 
> Thank you to Sam W, Brea M, adsnoggin, Aubrey S, Melissa P, and Kenzie G. <3


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